Stir Of Emotion
by Taintless
Summary: Hermione was different from other girls. She made him feel. The twisted interaction between Draco and her over a number of years.


"_It can never happen," you whispered to me in my dreams._

_Don't I know it?_

_Dreams, that's all I have. It can never work between us. I know that. You're such a different person from me. _

_But I can't stop loving you._

_Do you hear that, Malfoy, I can't stop loving you._

_I don't know why._

_You hate me. I should hate you. But I don't. I haven't. Not since I was eleven years old. _

_Damn you. I don't know why this has happened to me. I'm too smart, right? Only a fool would love someone incapable of love, right?_

_I love you._

_But I'd never even let it happen, anyway._

_You'd only hurt me._

Draco Malfoy shouldn't have read her diary. He'd read it for some new material to tease her with.

He had never known she was in love with him.

As he turned the last page, he felt something stir inside him. A glimmer of hope. Something underneath the darkness. A quick flash of light.

Once he'd put the diary down, it was gone.

But he hadn't teased her about it after wards.

He hadn't given it back either. It remained in his drawer, his secret.

When he was in his darkest moments, he thought about it. He never felt that same blink of emotion, but he knew it was there, thanks to that diary. He knew that, underneath it all, he had once been human.

She married Weasley, of course. He'd stared at that picture in the newspaper for a long time, trying to see under the expression. There was no sadness there, only sheer delight and smiling confidence in her new husband.

As he looked at that picture, he wished, for just one brief moment, that he was the guy standing beside her.

He felt the same emotion stirring in his chest. His heart felt like it was beating for the first time ever.

The newspaper went into the same drawer as the diary and the emotion was gone.

He lived his life as a Death Eater. He killed many, many people. He couldn't remember any of their faces. He found no enjoyment in it. In fact, he didn't really have any desire to kill people. He just followed the shadows in front of him; he didn't really know what else to do now.

The night they went to the Grangers was the only night he really cared about the killing. Her parents. She had looked so much like her mother. The same deep, brown eyes. The same uncontrollable hair. The same clear, pale skin. The same expression of defiant fear and disgust, as he waved his wand at her in her final moments.

He took a picture from their Living Room and looked at it for a long, long time. Her, with her parents. She also had an older brother, Draco had never known that. The older brother was probably living somewhere else. Or maybe he was dead.

Draco cared that he did not know. He cared that she had had a whole other life than her one at Hogwarts. He'd only seen a glance of her life, and he wished he had seen more.

The picture went into the same drawer as the diary and the newspaper.

Life continued on. Draco heard that she was after him, that she'd learned about his involvement in her parent's deaths. Somehow it was suddenly personal for both of them. She sent him an owl.

_I know, Malfoy, and I'm coming to get you._

The emotion again, the flicker of something sensual.

He'd sent the owl back with the response:

_Come and get me. I've been waiting._

There was a long game of cat and mouse, after that. Weasley was killed by Death Eaters. Draco, strangely enough, had not been involved. He'd asked the Death Eaters for Weasley's wand and it was now in the same drawer as her diary, the newspaper article about her Wedding, the picture of her and her family and the warning she had sent him.

He never looked in the drawer.

She found him at last and he had his first good look at her, after so many years. Her hair seemed darker. It wasn't frizzy, like before. It was up and sleek, half straight and half curls. So dark, almost black.

So were her eyes. They were empty and black; emotionless. Not like before. Before he could see every one of her expressions, except for her supposed love. Now there was nothing but darkness surrounded by dark lashes.

Her face held no expression.

She was both beautiful and painful to look at. Inside of him, the flash of light became a celestial burning. He felt as if, if he had discovered this light earlier, it could have taken away the darkness inside of him. Now, though, after everything, it only burned. It brought only painful relief.

It felt so strange and wonderful to him, to be able to _feel. _Not just glimmers like before, but real emotion, real pain, real feelings.

"You killed my parents," she hissed.

"And now you've found me," he replied.

He saw, over her shoulder, Goyle and Crabbe slithering forward. The Death Eaters had been ready for her attack.

They didn't have much time.

"Avad-"

He stopped that curse from leaving her sullen mouth by kissing her. The burning inside him burst, suddenly celestial and complete and utter hell.

For a second, she was kissing him back.

The next second, she was shoving him away from him. Tears swam in those dark emotionless eyes.

"What are you doing?" she heaved.

"You loved me once," he hissed at her, the burning bursting through his composure.

"Once, for reasons I do not know of. But not now. Now I _hate_ you. You're _disgusting_."

She didn't get to say anymore. Goyle had already killed her before Draco could shout "No!" and, once she'd fell to the ground, everything that had come up his throat was sliding back down. She was dead and now he was dead, the darkness diminishing the light as quickly as it had come. He felt nothing as Crabbe dragged her body away.

But something had fallen on the ground. A locket. Silver and small. It was hers. He opened it and there was his own face, of eleven years, smiling at him.

Why did she still have this?

The light had its quick flare, he gloried in it, then he closed the locket and his final blessing was gone. After all, she was dead now.

He put it in the drawer, of course.

Then he completely forgot about her. Or at least he tried. He didn't have any conscious thoughts about her anyway.

He dwelled in the darkness and he felt safe.

It was only when he was an old man that he really remembered. His Death Eater days were done. The son of Potter had finally beaten Voldemort and all his Slytherin friends were dead. He couldn't walk well anymore. Most of the time, he read great books.

He became sick. Nobody cared. Nobody held any affections for him. Nobody knew he was dieing except for him.

An old man, he realised one thing. Someone might have cared for him once. He finally, finally opened the drawer. He read the diary, stared at the newspaper, examined the photo of her family, fingered Weasley's wand, spoke aloud her warning and opened the locket.

He felt tiredness blanket him. The light was burning him again, so badly this time. He fell into it, groaning out loud. His heart bet wildly in his chest. He had never felt so alive.

Tears rolled down his face and suddenly he realised. The light, the motion, the flicker of _something_, had been love.

He might have been in love with her.

He fell off his chair and suddenly the pain he'd felt inside was now outside of him as well.

After his life of darkness, it was the light that finally killed Draco Malfoy.

And, maybe, it had killed Hermione Granger too.

* * *

_Look, I haven't been able to write lately. This is just… something. Blah. Don't mind me at the moment. I'd appreciate a review – it might cheer me up. Please? Anyway, feel free to critize too, I know it's not really up to par. I like the idea, just not the way it came out. I'll probably come and fix it up later, if you think it's worth the bother._

_Anyway… Thanks for reading! How are you all? Looking forward to the Summer? I am! _


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